How to Live Again: Working Title
by ImagineKitten
Summary: Pitch Black: reclusive and powerful. Jack Frost: lonely and curious. When Pitch Black decides a flatmate will help him engage with the world again, Jack Frost isn't what he expected. It takes some misunderstandings, anger and midnight Guitar Hero sessions for them to realise all they needed was someone else to put their trust in. Rated M. Teaser Chapter. Coming Soon.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardian's or make money off of it.**

 **This is a teaser for my next fic - coming soon!**

 **Title, Summary and Content are subject to change.**

 **Happy Reading.**

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 **Pitch**

When Pitch had posted that 'flatmate wanted' ad on the internet, he hadn't expected a reply. The nagging from his mother had worn at his ambivalent facade, and had goaded him into placing it in a moment of weakness. He did not _want_ a stranger living in his home. Strangers were generally loud, messy beings. They ruined his nightly cup of Blue Blood tea and were so unbelievably imbecilic it made Pitch want to willingly be Medusa's hairdresser.

Especially in a world where monsters lived among humans, strangers were especially dangerous. Most stayed away from his residence for several reasons – the major one being Pitch Black was a vampire, and a high level one at that. A bloodsucker making his tomb in this suburb made it no longer necessary to have a neighborhood watch – scary denizens of the night would not dare trespass on Pitch's turf.

His previous partner had also deterred robbers and the like. Werewolves were not exactly known for their good temper; judging by how Kyle had torn the kitchen apart upon hearing the news Pitch was ending their 12 month relationship. After his tantrum, Pitch had thrown the mutt out with his tail between his legs and not seen hide nor hair of him since. The kitchen could be replaced, but any longing Pitch previously had for agreeable company shriveled and died after that attempt at dating.

Being 1,611 years old, he struggled to find partners he could really connect to. It had been several hundred years since he had last tried engaging with someone, so he tried with a modern Werewolf; strong, young and fiery. After _that_ horrendous mistake he kept to himself, a pleasurable pastime where his own company serviced him just fine.

As for the ad, his mother had sounded so sad when she reminisced about his previous boyfriend it had propelled him into writing it in a fit of pique. Kyle had always said he was too cold; too disliking of people to have them around for long. Fine. Let them _both_ be proven wrong.

The brief description of himself, however, did not exactly portray a heart-warming soul that people generally wanted to live with.

 _Male_ , _Vampire. Dislikes animals, clutter and laziness. References required._

All true, but in retrospect not the best advertising slogan to draw the punters in. Maybe he had secretly wished no one would answer the is why he was so surprised when his house phone rang on a Saturday evening when his mother was not scheduled to call.

Pitch picked up the phone expecting a telemarketer, but was stunned to hear a cheerful greeting through the phone. When the pleasant voice repeated the hello a second time, uncertainty bleeding into the tone, Pitch hastened to speak and not stare at his phone like a fool.

"Yes, this is the Black residence."

His English accent coloured his tone into that resembling a butler; contrasting with the American one coming through the speakers. _Hmm_. It could be a potential client. Pitch was one of the higher ups in a blood supply company – business or pleasure.

"Hey. I saw your ad - you need a flatmate?"

The lilting timber sounded lazy. A pixie, perhaps? Pitch toyed with the idea of hanging up and making a fresh cup of tea, but then the man spoke again.

"I got references." The words were rushed and tinged with desperation. "They're good. I could send them to you? Or we could meet up and I could hand them over?"

Pitch sighed inwardly. Overly keen, this young one. Then again, wasn't that was this was all about? Taking a chance on strangers? He had avoided close relationships for years because of his reluctance to put up with the idiocy that was the general population. For example, like that homeless gentleman his mother offered to house for the night when Pitch was barely out of his training fangs, who turned out to be a Were-Magpie that robbed them in their sleep. Pitch was reluctant to have his beloved computer stolen again. Even thinking of it made his spare hand caress the monitor lovingly. Black, of course. Full specs for someone of his calibre.

"Dude...that a yes or...?"

Tripe. He had forgotten all about the eager man on the phone.

"I suppose that will suffice." He restrained an exasperated sigh. "Come tomorrow. You may come inspect the house to see it is appropriate. Please bring your references and resume along with you."

"Resume? But that wasn't on-"

"Good day."

Pitch hung up. Honestly, he didn't sound a day over twenty. Having a youth in the house sounded exhausting – similar to minding an over-active puppy.

It was only later as he stirred blood sugar into his tea, he realized he had forgotten to ask the young man's name.

No matter. Regardless, Pitch would formulate his opinion after meeting him.

The house was spotless. Naturally, Pitch had taken it upon himself to keep it in top notch after his wayward bastard of a former lover had wrecked the place. The spare room was even more immaculate, since it was rarely used (his mother came to stay every twenty years or so). It held a double bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers and even a large window seat that overlooked the sunset. Perfectly arranged to make any Feng Shui follower proud.

Pitch had printed a list of rules (with a copy for himself) to go over with the stranger. He planned to make it clear any breaking of these house rules would result in immediate eviction. He had even thrown in a gag rule to test the newcomer and see how badly he wanted the room, much to his immense glee.

His fingers formed a tent as he sat in his comfy sofa, going over his game plan in his head. It was quarter past 1 in the afternoon – perhaps the lad had church?

Half 4 found Pitch smoothing down his stiffly ironed shirt and dark jeans with irritation. There was only so much waiting one could take not being able to use the appliances for fear of making a mess.

When the antique clock in the hall struck six, Pitch resigned himself to not seeing the eager stranger. An uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach; one he rarely felt. The ache was similar to disappointment – which was utterly ridiculous. Pitch did _not_ want a flatmate. This was merely to colour the empty silences filling more and more of his mother's phone conversations. A filler, a distraction. Nothing more.

He set about his monochrome kitchen making blood stew; a mixture of simmering blood types coupled with a tin of red parts he didn't examine too closely. A bottle of red he had been warming to room temperature was popped open with a flourish; why not fill that disappointed ache with alcohol? Perfect remedy. It was only as he was pouring a glass next to his steaming meal the doorbell rang, freezing his movements.

Could it...? Surely not. Most normal people would come to a house viewing during the day. The possibility that the stranger was a vampire crossed his mind and set his fangs on edge. Pitch did not like other vampires – as a race they were rude, egotistical and were always having power struggles. Which was why he threw open his door with more force than necessary and growled out a foreboding warning to cower the fellow lurker of the night.

A crackle was his only warning before a bolt of searing cold sliced into his chest. Pitch staggered back with a snarl; surprise mixed with anger. Who _dared_ attack him in his home?! His fangs lengthened in his mouth in reaction to his fury. A small grunt of horror caught his attention and drew his head up and along like a hound to source the sound. When his eyes landed on a half crouched man, staff held in front with its crooked end still frozen, he stilled to consider the situation.

An ice sprite, by the look of him. His shock of white hair was messily layered in the current style; reminding Pitch of the younglings in current higher education. His long forehead sloped to ice blue eyes that were narrowed suspiciously at Pitch, matching the scrunched wrinkle of his nose and pursed mouth. The slightly torn trousers he wore were tinged with glittering ice crystals that spun off when the boy moved to land on his bare feet. The blue hoodie he wore was tight over his forearms; suggesting he needed a bigger jumper.

 _Interesting_. Pitch straightened his back and forcibly retracted his sharp teeth. No doubt he gave the boy a fright; barging outside like a lunatic.

"Good evening." He nodded and offered a shallow bow. Hundreds of years of etiquette had yet to leave him. The sprite slowly lowered his own staff and offered an easy grin. The familiarity of it caught Pitch off guard.

"Uh, hey. You attack all your visitors?"

The question was put forward with a teasing undertone. Pitch was not offended. He had nearly ripped the boy's throat out, after all.

"I assumed, due to the lateness of the hour, you were a fellow vampire. I apologize for my actions. Am I correct in thinking you are the interested party?"

The sprite rubbed his white hair in an awkward motion. "I need a place, yeah."

Already Pitch was evaluating the state the sprite was in - he was unsure if the younger man could afford the rent.

"Indeed. Please enter."

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 **Coming soon!**


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